


my lover stands on golden sand (somewhere, beyond the sea)

by buckydarling



Series: if i could fly like birds on high [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex loves the little mermaid, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Hurricane, M/M, Mermaid! Alex, Modern AU, SO MUCH FLUFF, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, laf and herc are good bros, mermaid au, merry christmas carol!, sappy boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:30:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9086863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckydarling/pseuds/buckydarling
Summary: “It’s gorgeous,” he murmured, almost to himself.“Oh, thanks. One of the later pieces I’ve written.”John screamed, much higher-pitched than he’d like to admit, and whirled around, but the beach behind him was empty. “What the- who - where are you?”“Down here, dumbass,” snarked an amused-sounding voice, and John turned and almost had a heart attack. Sitting leaned on a large rock in the surf, chin propped up on his hands, was a honest-to-God fucking merman.or: John and Alex both think they've gotten the bad lot in life, until they meet each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wearealltalesintheend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearealltalesintheend/gifts).



> Merry (late!) Christmas to my Dearest,,,,,, Carol!!!! Sorry this took so long to write wtf.
> 
> Long story short, she asked for Lams and I wanted a mermaid AU. I got a little carried away.
> 
> Enjoy!

The sand gives underneath his feet, lifting up in swirling patterns and flying down the beach as Alex stumbles away from the safety of town, the wind whipping in his long black hair. The clouds are a slate-gray ceiling above Nevis, and the waves claw their way towards what Alex supposes were once the heavens. There isn’t much about them that’s heavenly now. Everything is gray; everything is dark; everything loses its cover in the path of an approaching hurricane.

Alex reaches the edge of the wet sand. Waves pound the shore, sending spray into his face so brittle it might as well be pebbles; the froth rides the crests like cracked glass, like dry dirt in the deserts he’s only seen in pictures.

 _Once,_ he thinks, _you wanted to go to the desert. The Grand Canyon. You wanted to fly there from New York, on an airplane._ A tear leaks from his bloodshot eyes and joins the rainstorm, the only free part of him left.

He looks at the bundle of papers clutched in his arms.

Everything he’s ever written; every scribble from his journal, ripped out and torn at the edges; every file from the public library’s old rusty computer, printed and deleted; every midnight occurrence, every couplet, every angry soliloquy. Palaces of paragraphs. His entire mind, his being. He _is_ a writer, knows it in his bones. _You were meant for more than numbers._

Holding them up to the mercy of the storm, his fingers tremble as he lets them go. He watches the next wave crest, blotting out what little sunlight has broken the clouds, and he steps out onto the wet sand, looking up. Always.

_You can’t write your way out of this one._

* * *

 

 

John stumbled along the beach, cursing a little bit as the sand stung his face, coat collar pulled tightly up around his nose and ears. His fucking resume had flown out of his hands and over the boardwalk railing, and now he had to go retrieve it. (So he could reprint it, of course. After rescheduling his fucking job interview, which he was now going to miss, because he’d dropped his resume. A typical day in the miserable life of John Laurens.)

He spotted a piece of paper floating in a tide pool a few yards away and crowed with victory, running to retrieve it. Flinching as he reached into the frigid February water, he shook a few droplets and grains of sand off and flipped it over to inspect the quality of the text.

Except, it wasn’t his resume.

 

_AH! whither, whither, am I flown,_

_A wandering guest in worlds unknown?_

_What is that I see and hear?_

_What heav’nly music fills mine ear?_

_Etherial glories shine around;_

_More than Arabias sweets abound._

_Hark! hark! a voice from yonder sky,_

_Methinks I hear my Saviour cry,_

_Come gentle spirit come away,_

_Come to thy Lord without delay;_

_For thee the gates of bliss unbar’d_

_Thy constant virtue to reward._

_I come oh Lord! I mount, I fly,_

_On rapid wings I cleave the sky;_

_Stretch out thine arm and aid my flight;_

_For oh! I long to gain that height,_

_Where all celestial beings sing_

_Eternal praises to their King._

_O Lamb of God! thrice gracious Lord_

_Now, now I feel how true thy word;_

_Translated to this happy place,_

_This blessed vision of thy face;_

_My soul shall all thy steps attend_

_In songs of triumph without end._

_-a. hamilton_

It was, without question, one of the most gorgeous and heartbreaking poems John had ever read. He scanned it over, and over, mouth slightly agape at the richness of the language, the imagery it evoked. The hurricane had struck St. Croix and the surrounding islands five days ago; John had watched the fallout on the news. He’d turned it off after they’d announced the casualties. He figured the poem must have been written by someone who lived there, and his heart broke anew.

“It’s gorgeous,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Oh, thanks. One of the later pieces I’ve written.”

John screamed, much higher-pitched than he’d like to admit, and whirled around, but the beach behind him was empty. “What the- who - where are you?”

“Down here, dumbass,” snarked an amused-sounding voice, and John turned and almost had a heart attack.

Sitting leaned on a large rock in the surf, chin propped up on his hands, was a honest-to-God fucking merman.

John rubbed his eyes. “What the fuck.”

The merman snorted. “Rude. I thought I deserved some credit for that poem.”

John shook his head. “No. I’m hallucinating. No fucking way.” He pointed a shaky hand. “You’re a fucking merman. You,” he glanced over at the iridescent, bronzy scales sitting in the water. “You have a _tail.”_

The merman rolled his eyes. “Believe me, pal, I thought the same thing when I first got it. I’m pretty used to it, though. Nice color scheme, though, I will admit. What if it had been, like, fucking brown or something?” He looked at the tail again. “Wait. Shit. Never mind.” The merman looked back at John. “I take it back. It’s brown.”

“No, that’s not it,” John replied. “You’re a fantasy creature. You don’t _exist.”_

“Well,” said the merman, “we must exist, because you’re looking at me, and I’m looking at you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not bad looking, either.” John flushed crimson, despite himself, and the merman laughed. “I’m Alex. Alex Hamilton.”

John looked down at the dripping paper in his hands. _a. hamilton._ “So you did write this.”

Alex nodded. “When I still had legs, yeah.” He looked at the tail with slight disdain. His silky black hair flopped into his face, and he pushed it back with a huff. “What’s your name?”

“John Laurens.” he replied, reaching out tentatively with a hand, which Alex shook. His hands were surprisingly warm. “So what’re you doing in Maine? Weren’t you a hurricane victim?” John immediately hated himself. Alex’s expression darkened. “I’m sorry, that was a horrible question--”

Alex waved him off. “No, no, you’re fine. Yeah, I was...a victim. Of sorts.” John didn’t press any further. “When you drown, apparently you become,” he gestured to the tail, “this.” There was a sadness in his expression that didn’t go undetected. Alex looked up, breaking the silence. “If you’re looking for your resume or whatever, I think it might have washed out with the waves. I could retrieve it for you, but I think it’d be a little torn apart by now. The surf is pretty rough today.”

John mumbled a curse under his breath. “Thanks anyway.” He held up the poem. “Can I, uh… keep this?” He looked down, flushing a bit. “It’s sorta amazing.”

Alex grinned like a maniac. “Whatever you desire, my dear Laurens.”

John flushed crimson red. “I just met you, and I’m still half-convinced you’re not real.” Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Want me to pinch you?”

John stifled a giggle. ‘Nah, you’re good. I’ll figure it out. Bit of a day, you know?”

Alex nodded, looking a little melancholy. “Yeah. Bit of a day.”

As John turned to leave, Alex spoke again.

“John?”

John turned. “Yeah?”

“Will you,” Alex paused, looking unsure, “will you visit me? Here?” He ran a hand through his hair. “The ocean gets a bit lonely. You’re the first person I’ve talked to since I, well, since I died.”

John’s heart twisted, just a little. “Yeah, man. I’ll visit you.”

Alex’s expression turned hopeful. “Really?”

John laughed. “Yeah.” He waved a little. “I’ll see you around, Alex.”

(Between the moment he stepped off the beach onto the boardwalk and when he finally managed to fall asleep that night, John Laurens pinched himself no less than thirty-seven times.)

* * *

 

Alex liked the ocean best at night.

He supposed the water was colder; he never really felt the temperature anymore. The moonlight drifted sad and soft in fractured beams as it cut through the surface, creating patterns on the jagged rocks and drifting sands that made up the sea bottom of the shores of Maine. He didn’t know what had compelled him to swim this far; he had let the current take him, lost in his own misery and anger. Anger that the hurricane had come. Anger that he had given up and let the ocean take him.

Anger that, somehow, however impossible, he was still alive, and now he was...this.

A _merman._ Alex had only seen _The Little Mermaid_ once, by some miracle of fate and a stolen movie ticket, but he felt that Disney had greatly over-glorified the experience. The ocean wasn’t that blue, crabs didn’t talk, sea witches didn’t lurk in ghostly wrecks. And it was _lonely._ Alex had seen a few others like him, with shimmering tails and ghostly eyes, but they all had somewhere to go, sailors to enchant, ships to sink. They had a lust for revenge, a desire to corrupt others. Alex had just wanted to be _done,_ to face the eternal darkness and whatever deity awaited him above, and now here he was, doomed to an immortality as a fantastical, fictional, glorified sea monster.

And then he had seen John, stumbling irately about on the beach, and had felt the irresistible, incredible _need_ to speak with another person. (Well, with a person. Alex wasn’t too sure how human he still was. He didn’t like to dwell on it.) Alex may not feel the cold in the water but, well, that conversation with John had made him feel warm in a way he hadn’t felt since his mother had still been alive. Since he had really, really felt like himself.

He hoped with all his being that John would actually come back and see him. He couldn’t take another loss, even one that seemed so trivial.

He swam through a patch of moonlight and down towards the sand, wondering if mermen slept and if he could finally get rid of the bags under his eyes and the weariness in his soul.

* * *

 

The golden string lights hanging in the window of Herc’s coffee-and-tea shop were bright and glowing and just cheerful enough to break through John’s gloomy gray mood as he walked in the next day, puffy scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, his shoulders hunched. He didn’t know why on earth he’d picked fucking Maine to live in -- maybe it had been the summers, or the lobster -- but here he was, with only Hercules Mulligan’s triple-decker-three-shot-double-whip-caramel latte extravaganza to sustain him through the rest of the month of February, and here he’d stay. For the company, he mused, as the man himself bustled from the back room and up to the counter where John was taking his usual seat at one of the barstools.

“John, my man!” Herc crowed, bringing his hand up for a fist bump. “Feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, bro, where you been?”

John huffed out a laugh. “Herc, you made me my usual yesterday. And the day before that. As you have done all week.”

Herc nodded philosophically, readjusting his floppy beanie on his short-cropped hair. “Ah, yes, Dear John, but all week you have been taking your drinks to go.” He started fixing John his drink. “You need to take a break, my dude. Go somewhere warm. Like Cabo, or your couch and the new season of Gilmore Girls.”

John sighed as Herc drizzled caramel until the whipped cream wasn’t visible anymore, reaching for a cap. “I need a job, Herc. My Netflix account doesn’t pay for itself, and I can’t,” he winced a little as Herc passed him a cup, “keep accepting these enormous drinks _on the house.”_

Herc waved him off. “It’s the least I can do, pal. You’re my best friend. I worry about you, is all.” He gave John a sideways glance as he sipped his drink. “I think you’re getting lonely. You’re a city boy at heart, I know that. I think you miss people.”

John gave him a sharp look. “I’m not moving back.”

Herc held up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know, we’ve had this discussion. Just let me help you, okay?” He grabbed a Sharpie and went to relieve the cashier of register duty. “And maybe get yourself a boyfriend, too.”

John rolled his eyes good-naturedly and sipped his drink again as puffy snow began to fall outside, and he thought about Alex, out there in the cold water.

Alex, the merman. Who he’d promised to visit.

 _Why the fuck not,_ he thought to himself. He’d already given his application to everywhere that was hiring that day. He might as well find something to do.

He stood up. “I gotta go, Herc. Think I might’ve left the stove on.” Herc waved.

“Movie night this Saturday, right, pal? You, me, and Laf.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” John called, grabbing his coffee and heading out the door.

The waterfront was, naturally, deserted, and John hopped off the boardwalk with ease, wandering under the pier and plopping himself onto a cold-but-dry rock out of sight of the shops. He sat there for approximately five seconds and felt very stupid.

“Alex?” He spoke out loud, tentatively.

“Oh, wow, that was fast! Hi there.”

John almost dropped his drink in the water, putting a hand over his heart and steadying his breathing. “Christ, man, give me a warning.” He looked down, and there was Alex, sitting in the water, his hands clasped around his tail. His hair was pulled up in a floppy bun that was somehow miraculously dry. He cocked an eyebrow, trying and failing to hide his apparent delight that John had come to see him.

“Nah, I’m good, Surprising you is now one of the joys I can look forward to.” He grinned mischievously. “Unless, of course, it will discourage you from visiting me, in which case I will use flashing lights and many bells and whistles to alert you of my presence.” John laughed, his cheeks growing warm in the cold air.

“So, what do you wanna talk about?” He asked, pulling his coat tighter around him and leaning down on his elbows, drink forgotten on a nearby rock. Alex rolled on his stomach and leaned his chin on his hands, tail flipping up flirtatiously.

“Well, John Laurens, tell me about yourself. I want to learn about _you._ ”

John leaned back pensively. “Well, let’s see. My middle name is Henry, after my bag-of-dicks father. My favorite color is sea green. I have exactly 247 freckles from my face to my collarbone, as counted by an outrageously drunk ex-boyfriend. My favorite drink is the outrageous caramel latte my friend Herc makes me at his cafe. And I hate broccoli, canned beans, hazelnut chocolates, and neon orange anything.” He cocked an eyebrow at Alex. “Anything else your heart desires to know, ask away.”

Alex giggled a little. “Have you always lived here?”

John shook his head. “No, I moved here from New York City, eh, I’d say about a year ago now?” He thought about it. “Yeah. I lived with Herc until I could afford my own place, got my own place, and then conveniently lost my job a month later. AKA, now.”

Alex frowned. “Where did you work? And why did you lose your job?”

John snorted, reflecting somewhat fondly on the memory. “I was an employee at a bookstore, and they fired me because this customer was being racist and homophobic and…” he trailed off guiltily. “I may have broken his nose.”

Alex let out a cackle. “John Laurens, I like you already.”

John smirked. “What, you didn’t like me before?” Alex sputtered.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, you snarky--”

John giggled and thwacked him on the arm. He was still surprisingly warm. “Alright, Mermaid Man, tell me about your pre-mermaid self. What was the land-dwelling Alex Hamilton like?”

Alex shrugged, his grin falling a bit. “There’s not much to tell. I lived on this tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean called St. Croix. My dad left us when I was ten, my mom got sick and died when I was twelve. My brother got shipped to a different family in the foster care system than I did, and I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I lived with some crappy family members, BS’ed my way through high school, wrote a whole lot of political essays and poetry, and died,” he paused. “Died in the hurricane, a month after my twenty-first birthday.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I lived a pretty unspectacular life, so when I found myself living as a hybrid fish-man, I decided I’d go somewhere other than the coast of St, Croix and the hosts of my fellow island-goers who were now also mer-people.” He looked up at John, a small smile returning to his face. “So I came here, and I met you.”

John tucked a curl behind his ear and smiled back. “Doesn’t sound too unspectacular to me.”

The wind blew, and the waves inched closer and closer to John’s rain boots, but he and Alex talked under the pier until Herc texted him five times and he and Alex couldn’t see each others faces anymore in the dark.

(He went home and lay in bed, praying to whatever god was up there that this was all real.)

* * *

 

Alex was really, really, really fucked.

The elastic he’d found on the beach to tie his hair up was now stuck in his ponytail. He desperately needed a coffee (turns out even mermen get withdrawal symptoms.) There was a storm raging overhead, meaning he was trapped sitting underwater, bored out of his mind, with only some equally bored sharks for company.

He was also very quickly falling madly in love with John Laurens.

It wasn’t his fault, he reasoned. Lots of people were probably in love with John Laurens. He was charming, and sarcastic, and witty. He wore waxy gray rain boots and long hooded raincoats and puffy scarves. He drank ridiculously elaborate coffees and made stupid jokes and seemed to genuinely care about whatever Alex was talking about, and he had curly hair and at least 247 freckles…

Alex wanted to bang his head on a nearby rock. He was such an _idiot._ The shark swimming by seemed to give him a look that gave him the sense that it agreed with him.

Alex wanted to tell himself it was all okay, but it wasn’t; as far as he could tell, he couldn’t magically give himself legs whenever he wanted to. Disappointingly, life under the sea was nothing like _The Little Mermaid,_ right down to the fact that his singing voice still sucked. (He’d tried once; he was almost positive that the octopi in the middle of the Atlantic were all still laughing about it.)

 _You need to get over youself, Alex,_ he told himself. _You’ve only talked to him twice. He could be a bag of dicks._

But as Alex swam along the coastline back and forth, with lightning crackling overhead and his cheeks flushed, he was certain of two things: John Laurens was anything but a bag of dicks, and Alex wasn’t getting over this anytime soon.

* * *

 

Movie night that Saturday brought John through the swirling snow (Christ, he really needed a car) down three blocks to Laf and Herc’s apartment building, with floor to ceiling windows and possibly the cheeriest lights display in town. John stumbled through the door to the lobby, shaking flakes of snow out of his hair and pulling out his tin of popcorn from its hiding place beneath his coat. He glanced at the elevator doors. _Out of service!_ Read a ridiculously cheerful sign on Christmas paper.

John sighed, and started up the stairs.

He entered the apartment without knocking, trying not to look as winded as he was in reality (he’d never know why they insisted on the top floor apartment in a building where the elevators had never actually worked to begin with) and was assaulted immediately by some sort of outrageous French pop music and the sight of the man of the house himself, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette, dancing in the kitchen, waving a spatula, wearing sweatpants and an apron over his bare chest. John walked around the barstools to whack him with the popcorn tin, eliciting a very high pitched scream.

“Turn the damn music down!” John hollered. “Can’t hear myself think in this goddamn place. Don’t you guys get complaints from the neighbors?”

Herc walked into the kitchen, turning down the volume dial to a reasonable level as Laf rubbed his lower back where John had hit him, looking offended. “The neighbors are either all old deaf people, or they’ve moved out,” Herc explained, hip-bumping John in greeting before sidling up behind Laf and wrapping his arms around his waist, peeking over his shoulder. “What’s for dinner?” He asked, drawling out the last syllable.

Laf huffed. “Nothing for John if he does not apologize, _mon cherie._ Popcorn tins hurt more that sweatshirts.”

John snorted in outrage. “I had a bruise there for a week!”

Laf turned up his nose haughtily to the ceiling, and Herc chuckled. John sighed.

“Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette, dearest darling sunshine of my life, I am deeply sorry that I have wounded you with this cursed popcorn tin, and I beg you for forgiveness and mercy, because I value your friendship above all, including my own life.” John bowed with a flourish. Herc snorted out a laugh, cackling as Laf tried to hide his grin, pretending to consider.

“Very well,” he said. “I forgive you.”

John straightened up. “Aight, Laf, I knew you’d come through eventually!” He tussled the puffy bun on top of Laf’s head and made headway for the TV room. “Now put on a shirt.”

The snow was falling thick and puffy, and John could just see the ice beginning to gather in the tide pools on the beach. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alex, outside in the black ocean. It sounded fucking lonely, being a merman. He thought about their talk under the pier.

Alex was a hurricane victim. Alex had _died._ John had only known him for a few days, but seeing Alex try to internalize that pain, that confusion, made John want to hug him tight and never let go.

Something inside John felt funny, like his heart was rocketing around in his ribcage.

“Yo, dude? You okay?”

John looked up to find Herc looking at him, arms crossed, looking slightly concerned. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

Herc raised an eyebrow. “You’re looking out that window like you’re having an existential crisis or something.”

John huffed out a laugh, shifting on the couch as Laf danced out of the kitchen with plates balanced on his arms. “Something like that, yeah.”

* * *

 

The morning was light gray, and a beam of white sunlight cut through the surface of the ocean down to where Alex was sprawled on the sandy ocean floor, attempting to sleep and failing. He squinted angrily up at the patterns of the waves cresting and crashing above him, grumbling like an old man. Rubbing his eyes, he rolled over onto his stomach, removing a pokey shell, and was attempting to doze off again when he heard his name in the unmistakeable, golden voice of John Laurens.

“Alex?” John said again, tentatively, his voice echoing through the water. Alex grinned and pushed himself up, sleep forgotten as he shot towards the shore.

John spotted him right away this time, waving him over to where he was seated on a thick beach blanket. They were in a somewhat secluded cove outside of town, seagulls screeching and flying around the rocks in the early dawn light. A ray of golden sunlight made its way out and turned everything from pale and white to brilliant warm colors. John was bundled in sweatshirts and scarves and a thick hat, holding a to-go coffee cup in each hand.

“Brought you something,” he said by way of greeting as Alex awkwardly pulled himself out of the water, accepting the cup offered to him. Alex inhaled deeply and groaned with delight at the scent.

“Black coffee?” He asked. John grinned.

“Cream and sugar if you want it, but I’m not too sure that’s your style.”

Alex laughed out loud. He shifted into a more comfortable position and leaned back on his elbows, taking a sip of the coffee. “So, Mr. Laurens, to what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?”

John shrugged, and Alex prayed that it wasn’t just the morning light that was making him look like he was blushing. “I just missed you, I guess. I was thinking about you yesterday. It was fucking cold out.”

Alex looked around and for the first time saw the snow blanketing the rocks by the beach access. “Oh, yeah. I guess.” He looked at John. “You’re human, though. The fuck are you doing out on this cold, windy beach at sunrise?”

John scooted closer and bumped him with his shoulder. “Hanging out with you.”

Alex scoffed. “Hanging out with me,” he gestured to himself, “is not worth you catching a cold, John.” John just smiled, turning to gaze out at the ocean.

“I don’t know about that. Seems worth it to me.”

Alex tried to hide the fact that fireworks were going off inside his chest, and tore his gaze from John, following the other man’s eyes out to the horizon. “It’s a shame I haven’t figured out the whole deal with legs yet. I’d love to bust out a pair and then we could, you know, hang out somewhere with heating, where I could order my own coffee.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Hamilton, are you insulting the coffee I very generously ordered you?” Alex sputtered, and John laughed before continuing. “It does suck, though. What, there no sea witch for you to make a bargain with? Sell your penmanship skills for a pair of legs?”

Alex gasped dramatically. “Why, never!” John looked at him and gave him a playfully sad look.

“Not even for me?”

Alex turned very bright red, and sighed a little despite himself.

“No, no, maybe for you.”

John smiled, and it was brighter than the sunrise. “Thanks.”

He scooted closer, leaning his head on Alex’s shoulder with a mutter of something about Alex always being so goddamn warm, and Alex put his head on top of John’s, and together they watched the new day dawn.

* * *

 

Herc, being the asshole that he was, let his phone ring three times before he finally picked up.

_“Hello?”_

John adjusted his phone under his ear, scrubbing dishes with a sponge. “Yeah, hey Herc. You free today? You and Laf?”

John heard shuffling on the other end of the line, and the unmistakeable sound of the espresso machine as Herc ran the coffee shop. _“Uh, yeah, I think so. Both of our shifts end at three. Why?”_

John shrugged and then had a minor heart attack as his phone almost fell into the sink. “Nothing big. There’s just…” he paused. “Just something I wanna talk to you guys about.”

**Earlier that Day**

Alex looked at him. “You can trust these guys, right?”

John nodded. “Yeah, Alex, they’re my best friends. I can’t just keep making excuses for why I keep running off to the waterfront every day in the middle of winter, and ordering an extra coffee when Herc _knows_ I’ve never taken it black.” He panicked as Alex’s face fell a little. “No, no, it’s not what you think - I love visiting you here! It’s honestly probably the best part of my day.” On an impulse, he grabbed Alex’s hand. “That’s why I want them to meet you. You’re my friend, and I want them to know you too.” _And I want someone to talk to about the fact that I’m rapidly falling in love with you,_ he added in his head.

It had been about a week since the morning John had gone to the beach, and since then he and Alex had been meeting there every morning before John headed off to work. (He had finally gotten a job in the bakery down the street from the coffee shop, and the beach was on his way. Sort of. Maybe.) But he was starting to get more and more odd looks from Herc when he ordered two drinks instead of one, and Laf was wondering why there was sand in all of his clothing. So, he needed to tell them. It was something that needed to happen.

Alex looked down at their hands and gave a small smile. “If you trust them, so do I.” He squeezed John’s hand.

 _Just friends just friends just friends,_ John was chanting in his head. _You can’t afford to keep falling in love with him, John, he lives in the ocean and you’re a human and it’d be bad bad bad this is bad this is really really bad._

God almighty, John really needed someone to talk to.

He brought himself out of his thoughts. “Alright, then, it’s settled. I’ll call Herc from work and bring him and Laf down to the beach later this afternoon?”

Alex shot him a finger gun. “Sounds like a plan.”

**That afternoon, 3 P.M.**

John shoved his way into the coffee shop right as Herc was grabbing his coat, Laf waiting by the door. He shot John a look.

“So what is it you must talk to us about, _Monsieur Laurens_? Have you been keeping secrets from us?”

John rolled his eyes and clapped him on the shoulder. “Everyone keeps secrets, Laf. Just come with me.”

It was almost March, and while the beach was still freezing, the sun was shining pleasantly on the sand, and John could almost imagine that it was summer. He turned to Herc and Laf, both standing behind him looking very confused.

“Alright, you two. You gotta promise me two things.”

Herc raised an eyebrow. “And those things would be?”

John grinned. “One, don’t assume I’m crazy. I’m not.” He walked down to the edge of the surf.

“And two, don’t freak out too much.” He turned to face the ocean. “Yo, Alex?”

“God, finally. I’ve been a nervous wreck all afternoon,” came Alex’s familiar voice.

Herc screamed.

John looked down to find Alex leaning back on his palms in the surf looking at Herc and Laf, a shit-eating grin on his face. He gazed up at John. “What took you so long?”

John rolled his eyes. “Their shift didn’t end until three, man, not my fault.”

Laf walked forward cautiously to stand next to John. “ _C’est impossible!”_ He whipped his head to stare at John, and then back at Alex. “You’re - you are -”

“ _Une_ _sirène?”_ Alex filled in helpfully in perfect French, and John fell more in love with him right then and there.

Laf gaped. “ _Tu parle français?”_ Alex nodded.

“ _Oui, et l'espagnol, et l'anglais. Il est très agréable de rencontrer un bon ami de john. Il m'a parlé de toi et de ton petit ami, Hercule._ ” Hearing his name, Hercules came forward to stand beside Laf, then squatted down to be level with Alex.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Alex Hamilton,” Alex responded with an easy smile.

“And am I hallucinating you, Alex Hamilton? Am I on some crazy-ass drugs right now?” Herc asked.

Alex threw his head back and laughed. “Damn, I don’t think so. You tell me.” He shifted. “I’m pretty damn real. But I understand the reaction. I didn’t believe it myself at first.”

Laf sat cross-legged next to Herc, and John followed. “So, you have not been _une sirène_ all your life?” Laf asked.

Alex shook his head. “Nope. Only had the tail for about a month now. Still getting used to it.”

Herc frowned. “How do you become a merman?”

Alex’s expression dropped, and John had to fight the urge to hug him. “I - I don’t know. I, uh, I drowned in the hurricane. Or I thought I did, until I found myself in the ocean with,” he flopped his tail a bit halfheartedly, “this thing.” Herc’s face turned to one of sympathy, and Laf turned to John.

“This is what you’ve been hiding?” He asked, looking amazed. John scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Yeah…” he replied. “That’s who I’ve been bringing coffee to.” Alex grinned behind Laf, and John smiled and felt his face flush.

Laf raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh, _mon ami,_ do we have things to discuss.” John whacked him in the arm.

(They eventually left the beach at sundown, but not before Herc had promised to visit with coffee, and Laf had promised to visit with food, and John had left feeling warmer than he had arrived.)

* * *

 

Alex made the surprising discovery that night that mermen could not get water up their nose.

He discovered this because he spent approximately thirty minutes doing somersaults in the water off the beach, thinking about new friends and coffee and John, John, John. John Laurens had brought his friends to meet Alex. John trusted those friends. John thought Alex was important.

John’s friends were _awesome._

Alex had chatted with Hercules Mulligan for a while, and liked him already. He made amazing coffee, knitted beanies, and had been friends with John since he’d moved to Maine. “I’ve lived here for years and years,” Herc (he’d insisted that Alex call him Herc) said, sitting on the beach. “My folks died and I didn’t want to take over the tailoring business - no way in hell Herc Mulligan is sitting on his ass all day measuring suits for old white men,” he’d added, and Laf and John had cracked up in the background. “So I made some halfhearted excuses to my uncles, and I moved. Opened the coffee shop, started an Etsy account…” he trailed off and turned around. “And then I met Laf, and I was like, ‘Hell nah, Herc, you ain’t never leavin’ this place again.’” Laf had whacked him in the shoulder before kissing him. John pretended to gag behind them.

Lafayette, whose real name was too long for Alex to remember, had come to America from France and quickly grown tired of city life. “I said to myself, _Lafayette, this is not the America you dreamed about. This America is greedy, and selfish, and much too fast-moving._ So I asked an old friend where to go, and he said, ‘ _Mon Ami,_ you must visit Maine!’ So I came to this tiny little town, and then Hercules moved here, and then John.” He sighed a little wistfully. “I will never be truly _américain,_ but I have no intention of returning to France.” He clapped Alex on the shoulder. “So, _mon nouvel ami,_ how did we never know that there were mermaids in our oceans?”

Alex shrugged. “I just think I might be the only one around here. The ones I’ve seen tend to prefer tropical waters, where they can freak out tourists and, like, steal pina coladas from resorts.”

Herc and John scooched forward, intrigued. “So why’d you pick Maine?” Herc asked.

_Hot water, cloudy water, debris floating everywhere, the faces of those who died after you pasted onto your new kinsmen, accusing you, knowing you had chosen to die willingly rather than fight for your life --_

Alex shook himself out of his thoughts. “Erm. I don’t really know. I just wanted a change of scenery, I guess, and Maine was pretty damn far. Plus,” he added, “Canada is, like, right there.”

John pretended to look offended. “You’re just using me for Canada?”

Alex winked. Herc and Laf roared with laughter.

Alex swam along the shore and thought about that conversation, and did another backflip.

Man, he _really_ was done for.

* * *

 

Herc shut the door of the apartment behind him and whirled around to face John, sitting on the couch trying to look innocent. He knew what he was in for. _That’s what you were hiding John? A merman? You’re crazy! We’re crazy! They don’t exist! Holy shit, how could you hide that from us?_ John was ready to respond to all of these shpiels; he had been rehearsing.

What he didn’t expect was what _actually_ came out fo Herc’s mouth.

“Oh my god, you are _so_ in love with him.”

John spluttered. _“What?!_ I’m not - I don’t know - what’re you trying to -”

“Oh, John, _mon cher,_ cut the _connerie_ and be honest with yourself,” sighed Laf, stretching out on the couch beside John. “You were making - how you say? Ah, yes - _heart eyes_ at your darling Alexander the entire time we were on that beach. Do not think we did not notice. You really need to learn how to be subtle.”

Herc rubbed his brow, laughing to himself. “Lord knows if there’s one thing you’re not good at, it’s hiding your affections.”

John remained silent, looking away from both of them and trying to look indignant.

“John…” prodded Laf, leaning in.

John threw up his arms, huffing. “Alright! You got me! He’s gorgeous and he’s funny and he’s ridiculously smart, and he listens really well and also talks a bunch and he’s really warm all the time and his hair looks really soft and he drinks coffee and I’m really pissed at myself because _I’m ridiculously in love with him!”_ He dropped his hands in his lap and looked at his friends, who were stunned into silence. “Happy now?” He dropped his head into his hands, feeling his eyes sting a little and struggling not to make his voice quaver. “And the worst part,” he continued, “is that I can’t have it. Any of it.”

He felt Laf reach out and stroke his arm, the couch dipping as Herc sat down. “Oh, _mon cher,_ why would you tell yourself that?”

John barked out a laugh. “Why? Because he’s way out of my league, and he doesn’t see me that way, and oh, yeah,” he jerked his head up to look at Laf, “he has a fucking _tail_ and lives in the goddamn ocean!” Feeling very exhausted all of a sudden, he let himself fall to the side, landing his head on Herc’s lap and bringing his feet up to curl underneath him. Laf petted his knee, and Herc frowned down at him, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape onto John’s face before running a hand through his hair.

“I’m gonna tell you two things, okay? Two bits of advice,” Herc said. John nodded.

“Number one,” Herc started, “he does feel about you that way, and I can tell. Sure, he might have a bit of a flirty personality, but, John?” He looked down. “Alex looked at you that entire time like you’d hung the fucking moon and stars. He _adores you._ I’m actually shocked that you’ve managed to stay just friends for this long already.” John sniffled, feeling his face flush as Herc continued.

“Number two, yeah, he has a tail. He lives in the ocean. Why are you letting that hold you back?”

John looked up. “What?”

Herc gave a small smile. “You’re in love with him, yeah?”

John nodded. “Yeah,” he said in a small voice. “A lot.”

Herc patted him on the shoulder and shoved him promptly off the couch.

“Then go get him. There’s still light out. We’ll be here.”

Laf winked. “Go get your boy, _mon ami.”_

John grinned and scrambled out the door.

* * *

 

Alex was rolling around absentmindedly in the surf when, out of the blue, he heard John’s voice.

“Alex? You there?”

He grinned and shot up to the surface. John was standing on their beach, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking...nervous?

Alex’s stomach dropped. What was going on? Had something happened? He shook it off and grinned. “Hey!” He made it up to the shoreline and John met him, kneeling on on the sand. Alex looked at him. “Weren’t you just here, Mr. Laurens? What’s up?”

John smiled. “Yeah, guess I was.” He looked up at the sky, then dow. “We - we’ve only known each other for about a month, but - well. Yeah. And lately I’ve been thinking, about, well, about -- nothing bad, just-- ugh. I guess I’m just here because - well, because -- I gotta tell you -- I’ve been meaning to --” He sighed, and started again. “What I’m trying to say is --”

He paused and looked at Alex, whose heart was in his throat, and for a moment there was silence.

“Aw, fuck, forget it,” he muttered, and he grabbed Alex’s face and kissed him solid on the mouth.

Alex’s brain froze for a second, and then every gear kicked into full overdrive, and John was _kissing him,_ and Alex was kissing him back, shifting to wrap his arms around John’s shoulders, fingers brushing the soft curls at the nape of his neck, their mouths slotted together just so and _oh my stars John was kissing him and he was kissing John._ A little wind kicked up the beach, but Alex didn’t notice; _God,_ he could lose himself in this, the soft press of their mouths, John’s hands warm on his face, his eyelashes brushing Alex’s cheek; he never wanted it to end.

At some point, they broke apart, both out of breath, and John rested their foreheads together. “So,” he whispered, softly, “I’m, like, super in love with you.”

Alex laughed, pulling himself closer and burying his face in John’s neck, breathing in his scent; caramel coffee and soap and sea salt, like the ocean. John pressed a kiss to his shoulder, nose nudging the bare skin, and Alex felt something bloom inside him, something warm and happy and new.

“Well,” he sighed, pulling himself up to look at John, “you’ll be delighted to know that the feeling is mutual. Which is to say,” he whispered, pecking one of John’s freckles on his nose, “that I,” another one on his jawline, “am also madly in love with you.” He brushed a piece of hair away, and John’s eyes were _shining,_ even in the darkness. Alex smiled, leaning in to kiss him again, and the second time was better than the first.

He pulled away. “You’re okay with this, right?” He asked, suddenly self conscious. He gestured to the tail. “You know it’s not gonna be easy, right? This thing is gross, and you’re a person, and I’m me and I can’t leave the water, and you can’t live in the ocean, and --”

John effectively cut him off with his lips, sealing it with a deep, reassuring kiss. “I’m with you, Alex,” he assured him. “All of you.” Alex grinned widely, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach - John’s cheeks, his forehead, his nose, leaning forward until John fell back, laughing. He lay on the sand, Alex propping himself up on his elbows to lean over him, kissing him fiercely.

“You and me, right?” John whispered, eyes hopeful and full of morning sunrise. Alex felt something rise up inside of him - a new chance at life. Another shot. And no way in hell was he throwing this away. He cradled John’s face in his hands and nodded.

“You and me.”

* * *

 

John managed to stumble back into Herc and Laf’s apartment around one in the morning.They had obviously seen him coming from the window, because the lights were on, and Herc and Laf were sitting on the couch, arms crossed, waiting expectantly. Herc raised an eyebrow. “So, what happened?” He asked.

John let out a small giggle and fell onto the floor, looking up at the ceiling. Laf whooped.

“John, you _connard,_ details!” He launched off the couch, rolling onto his stomach beside John and propping his chin up. “Tell us everything, _mon cherie,_ we have been waiting.”

“You were gonna a pretty long time,” Herc added, joining them on the floor. “And you have sand in your hair,” he added, brushing it away. He leaned over to lie down, propping his head up of Laf’s back. “Now, you heard the man. _Deets,_ Laurens.”

John laughed again. “Man, it was a fuckin’ mess. I sprinted right down to the beach, right? And I had this whole speech prepared. I was so ready. And then he showed up, and _God,”_ John waved his hands around meaninglessly, “he looked so _gorgeous,_ right? And all my words flew right out the window. I was sitting there trying to talk to him, and I kept stumbling, and messing up - I couldn’t even get a full sentence out. And then I looked at him. And he looked _terrified,_ like he thought I was gonna tell him something bad, or that I hated him. And I gave up, and said, _you know? Fuck this.”_

He turned to look at them, and shrugged. “And then I kissed him.”

“Ayyyy!” Herc hollered. “Attaboy, John!” Laf pretended to wipe away a tear.

“So,” he said, expression turning mischievous, “what were you doing on the beach for the past, oh, I don’t know, three hours?”

Herc cackled. “We were worried about you, man.”

John shrugged again. “We kissed a bunch more. Talked.” He looked to the side. “I think we’re both a bit worried about the circumstances.” He fingered a curl. “But…” He smiled softly. “It’s love, right? He likes me a whole lot, and I like him a whole lot, and we’re gonna make it work.”

As they talked late into the night, snow began to fall outside.

* * *

 

March arrived in Maine shockingly warm for the time of year, with the first of the month hovering at sixty degrees. The sky was brilliant blue, and the surf matched; Alex floated on the water off the coast, rolling in the gentle waves.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick if you keep that up,” John’s voice admonished from above, and Alex cracked an eye open to see him, leaning on the side of the motorboat they’d rented for the day, a soft expression on his face. Alex winked.

“I think I’m good. Care to join me for a swim?”

John shook his head. “No thanks. Still a little cold for my taste. But I’ll dip my feet in if you promise not to pull me in.”

Alex grinned wickedly. “No promises, sweetheart.”

John blushed a little at the nickname as he tugged his shoes off and rolled up his jeans, dipping his toes in the water. He kicked a little in Alex’s face, who giggled and splashed some back. The sun shone down overhead; it was a gorgeous day, and Alex and John were on a _date._

It was their first official one; the past week had consisted of John visiting him on the beach, the two of them talking and exchanging kisses under the pier. Laf and Herc had come with him once, bearing plates of food and good company. And truth be told, if all they did for the rest of eternity was that, then Alex wouldn’t ask for anything. But John insisted that they have some sort of date.

“Something we can do on the water of course,” he’d said, glancing up almost longingly at a nearby restaurant on the street, and Alex had tried to ignore the way his stomach had clenched. He knew it was a lost cause. He knew that John would someday move on to someone he could have a real relationship with, and Alex would stay in the ocean. He knew it, in his bones; John, for now, was kind and loving enough, but Alex knew. He’d move on. They always did. His father had.

God, the world really was against him, wasn’t it?

“Hey, you okay?” John’s voice snapped Alex out of his thoughts. He looked up.

“Yeah,” he replied, shaking his head a little. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

John frowned at him. “No, you’re not.”

Alex leaned on the boat. “John, really, nothing’s wrong, Im fi--”

John shook his head, sliding down to sit on the platform on the back of the boat. “No, you’re not fine. You’re quiet. Even when you’re thinking about something, you’re always talking.” He took Alex’s hand, and Alex stared as John rubbed his thumb in slow circles. “Just tell me, okay? You can tell me anything.” John lifted his chin up. “You know that, right?” Alex nodded, his stomach sinking, and he knew he didn’t believe himself.  

“I’m…” he started. “I. I don’t know.” He sighed. “I’m worried.”

John frowned, squeezing his hand. “About what?”

Alex squeezed his eyes shut. _Now is not the time to fudge excuses._ “About...you. Us.”

John furrowed his brow. “What is it? I didn’t do something wrong, did I?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Oh - god, no, John, never!” He looked away. “I just… I don’t want this to continue if it’s going to be a temporary thing.”

John looked incredulous. “Temporary - Alex, what are you talking about?”

Alex threw up his hands, wrenching them from John’s grasp. “Look at me, John! I’m a fucking _merman!_ Look, I understand, but it’s - the universe is trying to tell us something, don’t you think?” He huffed. “We can’t even go on a proper fucking date because I can’t leave the stupid ocean, and I know I can’t give you what you want out of this.”

John reached for him. “Alex, what I want is _you,_ I don’t care about any of that-”

Alex dodged him. “You say that now. But I know you’ll leave.” He looked aside. “People always do. It never works out if you’re not like the rest of them.” An angry tear slipped out. “I know this isn’t good enough. We might as well end it, because I’m way too in love with you for this to end without either of us getting hurt.”

John looked horrified. “Alex, _no,_ it’s not like that at all -- I literally confessed my feelings for you a week ago, what -- I love--”

“Oh no,” Alex murmured, staring at the sky.

John whirled around. “What?”

Dark clouds had snuck up on them, lightning crackling within them. Alex’s stomach dropped, because a storm was gathering fast and _oh my god, they were on a tiny boat, so far from the shore._ “John, we gotta go now, you’re gonna get hurt, c’mon!”

John whirled to look at him. “Alex, wait, I--”

Alex shook his head, pushing him into the boat. “I’ll help, c’mon, we gotta get you back to shore, this is too dangerous for you!” _You can’t lose him, you can’t let him get hurt, this is all your fault, why why why why._

The wind whipped in his hair as Alex helped propel the boat along, the waves chasing them threateningly as rain fell from the sky in sheets, giving no mercy. The shore was visible, but it was _so far,_ and John was clinging to the steering wheel of the boat, drenched from head to toe. Alex could see the dock now, see the distant figures of Herc and Laf waving frantically at them, and Alex gritted his teeth, willing the boat to go faster, willing John to be safe, _John had to be safe--_

A tremendous wave flung the boat forward, and Alex screamed in terror as John was thrown out of it, into the rough surf. He shot forward underwater, searching frantically until he found John, paddling frantically, trying to get to the surface. Grabbing him around the waist, he pulled him up for hair, swimming for the dock, John’s arms coming to wrap tightly around his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life. Lightning crackled in the sky above them, and even above the sound of the storm, Alex heard John’s audible sob of fear, and his heart shattered.

They reached the dock at last, and Alex pushed John up into the arms of his friends before falling back. Wrapped in a towel, John reached out for him, but Alex shook his head, suddenly afraid, suddenly so aware. _This was your fault. You did this. He could have died, and you’d be responsible._ Letting out a whimper, Alex flung himself back into the ocean, swimming far, far away from the shore, to the open ocean, where he couldn’t hurt anyone.

He stopped short and screamed into the dark water. “Why?!” He cried. “Why can’t you let me have this one thing? Why must it be this way?” He pulled at his hair in anguish. “Why can’t I have him?” He cried up at the surface, at the cruel, unforgiving universe that had put him in this ocean. “Please,” he whispered, broken. “Give me one more chance. I won’t throw this away.”

Sobs wracked his body. “ _Please,”_ he cried.

A huge wave rolled over him, and he was suddenly swept up in the backwash, pulled out to sea, rolling uncontrollably in the furious water. Scrabbling at nothing, his tail rendered useless, Alex was battered by the waves, pulled farther and farther away.

He cried out for John, and then everything went black.

* * *

 

John shivered, and he couldn’t tell if it was the tears or shower water dripping down his face as Laf towelled off his hair. It was the next morning, and John was in Herc and Laf’s apartment. Herc walked in with another blanket. “What happened yesterday, John?”

John looked down, sniffling. “We were in a bit of an argument. He was so,” he furrowed his brow, “so convinced that he wasn’t _worth_ anything. That it wasn’t worth it to be together, because he thought he was a burden. And,” he continued, “he just, God, he thought I didn’t _love him enough.”_ John sobbed. “I love him so much, and he doesn’t know? Doesn’t think he’s worth it?” He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “Neither of us noticed the storm clouds, and then we got back here, after he fucking _saved me,_ and he’s just...gone.”

Laf rubbed soothing circles on his back. “I would say he feels bad, _mon cher._ He feels he is responsible for the chaos, in some way. I am not saying it was his fault,” he continued, “but after what I heard about your disagreement, it seems he blames himself.”

John wiped away his tears, then shrugged off the blanket and stood up. “I have to go talk to him.”

Herc placed a hand on his shoulder. “Want us to come with you?”  John shook his head.

“No. It should just be us.” Herc and Laf nodded.

“We are rooting for you, _mon ami,”_ called Laf, as John left the apartment, pulling on his jacket.

The docks were soaked with rain, but empty. John sprinted down to the end of the farthest one and knelt down. “Alex?” he called. “You there?”

For the first time since John had met him a month before, Alex didn’t show up immediately. John’s heart sank.

“Alex, please, I’m not angry with you. Please come here. I want to talk to you.”

The only sound was the waves lapping at the dock. John felt himself start to panic, tears bubbling up in his voice.

“Alex?” he called out, a little more frantically. “Alex?!”

 _He left. He’s gone,_ whispered the voice in John’s head. He sobbed, openly, sitting there on the dock, facing the ocean. _Don’t go, you can’t leave, I love you._

“John! John!” cried a voice behind him. He whirled around to see Herc sprinting down the dock towards him. He stood, slowly.

“He’s not here, Herc.” said John, slowly. Herc grabbed him by the arm.

“Yeah, John, I know, you gotta come with me.”

John stopped short. “Wait, what?”

Herc tugged on his arm. “On the beach, there’s - oh god, I can’t even explain it, John, but you have to come with me _right now.”_

The ran down to the beach, where Laf was kneeling with his back to them. “He’s alive,” he called out to Herc and John as they approached, and Herc huffed a sigh of relief and slowed down, pushing John ahead of him as Laf stepped aside. And John gasped.

Because lying there on the beach, with his wet hair plastered to his forehead, wearing soaked jeans and a tee shirt, was a completely human Alex Hamilton.

John let out a shout and scrambled forward, landing on his knees in the sand and cradling Alex’s head in his arms. “Alex?” He whispered softly, stroking his cheek. “Sweetheart?” There was a pause, and then Alex brow furrowed and he grumbled softly. John almost sobbed with relief. “Alex?”

Alex’s eyes opened, and he squinted. “...John?” he whispered, his voice gravelly. “What--” He moved his legs, and his eyes widened with realization. “John. Oh my god, John --” He broke off as John kissed him hard on the lips, tears streaming down his face. Alex’s arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him back, and soon they were both crying, holding each other. John broke off, gasping for air.

“I love you,” he whispered, nose brushing Alex’s cheek. “God, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you so fucking much, I love you.” Alex laughed, sniffling, and brought their foreheads together.

“God, John -- I’m so sorry, I love you -- _I love you,_ oh my god.” Alex kissed him again, deeper, more insistent, and John kissed him back, opening their mouths, trying to pour in every emotion he felt, all the love, all the relief, all the joy that Alex was _here,_ he was _alive,_ and he _loved John, John loved Alex, Alex loved John._ They finally broke apart and John cradled Alex to his chest, Alex burying his face in the crook of John’s neck.

Herc and Laf whooped in the background and came racing down the beach hand in hand, tackling the duo in a group hug. Herc’s chin somehow found its way onto John’s shoulder, and Laf’s chin on top of Alex’s head, and somewhere in the middle of it all John and Alex found each other’s hands, and in the bright, crisp Maine morning, they all held on to each other.

* * *

 

Laf and Herc made terrible neighbors, Alex thought as he carried a cardboard box up the stairs; they hadn’t even offered to help them move in. He shook his head with a grin, feeling a little giddy. He was walking up _stairs._ Three weeks since that day on the beach, and he was giddy about stairs.

Sure, if he thought about it, he’d only been a merman for about a month and change, but it still took some getting used to now that he had legs again. He’d missed dry land. Missed going to restaurants, going on walks, running. And, as he pushed open the door to the new apartment and found John sprawled eagle-spread on the floor, panting, surrounded by more boxes and furniture still in the packaging, he’d found what he’d been missing his whole life.

Dropping the box, he wandered over and flopped down next to John, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I think that was the last one.” John sighed in relief.

“Good. I’m done for today.” He turned his head to look at Alex. “Wanna order Chinese?”

Alex grinned. “Yeah, but Herc and laf aren’t invited.”

John nodded. “Damn straight. Fuckers.” Alex laughed, and it echoed in the new space. Filled it with life. He got up off the floor and wandered over to their new couch by the window, the only thing set up, and beckoned for John to join him.

There was something, he had decided earlier that day, that they needed to talk about.

“John,” he began, “you remember when we first met, right?” John nodded as he joined him on the couch. “And how I told you the story of how I became a merman?”

John reached out for his hand. “Yeah,” he said, “I remember.” Alex looked down at his lap, at their joined hands.

“Well,” he continued, “There’s a part I left out. A part I feel like you should know.” He took a deep breath.

“When I lived on Nevis, I lived a pretty sucky life. My dad -- he left our family when I was ten. Didn’t leave us money or anything, just packed up and shipped off to god-knows-where. And my mom died when I was twelve. She got really sick, the both of us did, and I made it through.” Alex frowned. “But, she didn’t.” John squeezed his hand and scooted closer on the couch, listening. “And it was just hard, you know? People there were mean. And all I wanted to do was write. I knew I was good at it, and I loved it. But I had to go to school, and then I had to work, and on Nevis, no one really cared about what you wanted. I knew I was never getting out of there.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as the memories overwhelmed him. “And then, one day, a few months ago, there was a massive, massive incoming hurricane.”

Alex fought back tears. “The thing was, I wasn’t scared. I was a little melancholy, sure, but mostly I was _relieved._ I grabbed everything I’d ever written. I didn’t have any belongings, no one to leave a note for. I walked down to the beach, and no one noticed I was gone.” His voice quavered, and he felt John’s hands shaking. “And then I threw it all into the wind, and I walked straight into the ocean. Into the storm.”

A sob came over him, wracking his body. “I just _gave up._ I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t have any more dreams, nothing to live for. When I woke up, in that ocean, with the tail? I was _angry._ I thought the universe was punishing me for something. I got the hell away from Nevis.”

He looked up, and reached up with his other hand to cradle John’s face, to wipe away the tears there despite the ones streaming down his own face. “And then,” he said, his voice cracking, “I met you. And you, John Laurens, are the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me.” John caught Alex’s hand on his face, covered it with his own.

“Alex,” he whispered, “I’m so goddamn sorry.” He reached out, bringing Alex into his chest, and they cried, and cried. After what seemed like an eternity, John whispered into his hair, “I’m proud of you.”

Alex looked up at him. “What?” He sniffled. “Why?”

John smiled at him. “You’ve come so far. You’re so brave.” He tightened his arms around Alex. “So, so brave.”

“It’s all for you, you know,” whispered Alex. “Everything. My life.” He pressed a kiss to John’s neck. “Doin’ it all for you.” John said nothing in response, only made a happy sound and buried his face in Alex’s shoulder.

“I’m so happy I met you,” came his muffled voice. “So goddamn lucky. I’m the luckiest guy on the fucking planet.” Alex grinned.

“Ah, no, ‘fraid I got you beat there. See, the luckiest guy on the planet is actually me.” John laughed, lifting his head to look at Alex.

“And why would that be, Mr. Hamilton?”

Alex swallowed. “Because, see, I also met this really awesome guy. And I really, really love him.” John smiled. “He’s super cute, and he’s funny, and he listens to all my problems. He probably saved my fuckin’ life. And,” Alex continued, sliding a hand into the box beside him, searching for the little velvet capsule he’d had hidden for a week, “hopefully, I’m gonna marry him soon.”

John’s mouth dropped open as Alex held out the simple silver ring. “Oh my god, Alex.” Alex slid down beside the couch, landing on one knee as he felt the tears come back around again.

“John Laurens,” he said, “I only met you a month and a half ago. But when you met me, on that beach? I was a mess. I was lonely, and sad, and I wanted nothing to do with life and what it had planned for me.” His voice quavered. “I hated what I had become. But now I know, by some miracle of fate or coincidence, that it all happened for a reason, because it brought me to you.” John blinked furiously, trying to stop the tears. “You _saved me,_ ” Alex breathed, his eyes locked on John’s. “And I love you. So, so much. So” he finished, holding out the ring, “John, my love, my sun and stars: will you marry me?”

John wiped away his tears and choked out, “Yes. Yes, oh my _god, yes,”_ before launching himself off the couch and into Alex’s arms, catching his lips in a passionate, searing kiss. Alex didn’t know how long they knelt there on the floor, lips meeting again and again in love, love, love. At some point, they managed to separate long enough for Alex to get the ring on John’s finger. He cradled Alex’s face, wiping away tears. “We really do cry a lot,” he laughed, and then they were both in hysterics, collapsed on top of each other in fits of laughter. Alex flopped back onto the floor, John propped up on his elbows over him; a perfect parallel of that night on the beach, not the beginning of everything, but the middle of something wonderful. John bent down and kissed him again, softly; a promise.

“You and me, right, John?” Alex whispered. John nodded, and Alex saw them both in his shining eyes, alive and in love.

“You and me,” he replied.

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> YEET. 10k words!! I've never written that much before. WOW holy jesus.
> 
> Comment/kudos if you liked this or want to see more of these dorks!!! (Series???????)
> 
> find me on tumblr: starpuffin


End file.
